A Lifetime Written Within these Pages
by Starry-EyedandStormy
Summary: Emma is cleaning the Master's study when she comes across some interesting papers written in the Master's hand. Pre-movie, with elements from the ride and legends as well.
1. Emma's Discovery

**I have a love/hate relationship with the movie "The Haunted Mansion". I hate the modern-day part with the Evers family, but I LOVE all of the parts that have Master Gracey and the ghosts. My favorite scene in the whole movie is the opening credits with the scenes from the ballroom, and Elizabeth's and Edward's deaths. I think the story would have been much better if it had just stayed in the 1800s and told the tale of the doomed love. So, I decided to write this. It's also for Halloween (my FAVORITE holiday).**

**Anyway, just a warning here. This story will get darker as it goes on. It will include Edward's suicide at some point, and possibly the deaths of other characters. However, for now, it is pretty tame, so read on.**

**Disclaimer: I deeply lament the fact that I do not own the rights to the "mouldering sanctum of the spirit world" or the house "where hinges creek in doorless chambers and strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls..." If I did, I would live there. All I own is a copy of the movie and as much merchandise as they sell (which is not much).**

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><p>The sun was shining through the large conservatory windows into Edward Gracey's librarystudy, illuminating the flecks of dust drifting through the room that were stirred as Emma dusted. It had been an unusually quiet morning, and the Master had been in the best mood he had been seen in since the night of the tragedy two weeks ago.

_Has it really been only a mere two weeks?_ Emma silently asked herself. It seemed as though it had been an eternity. The poor girl... and poor Master! To have his love kill her-... die in his house in this very room...

_Stop thinking about it Emma, you'll only make yourself upset again._

She continued to methodically dust off each progressive shelf while trying to sort out the events of the past two weeks in her mind.

_It just doesn't make any sense... They seemed so in love, and she was such a sensible, sweet, kind... But obviously she wasn't happy... What could possibly make a person like her that unhappy?..._

She continued with thoughts of this kind until she slipped on some sheets of loose paper that were lying on the floor. When she regained her balance and saw what she'd slipped on, Emma bent down to pick up the papers. _I can't let Ramsley see that the Master was leaving things lying about again... _So she turned to set them on his desk.

She hadn't really looked at the Master's desk before, but it was clear that something was wrong. True, the Master was not the tidiest person in Louisiana, but his desk never looked like _this_. Papers were strewn all over it, and many were falling to the floor. There was broken glass shattered on top of and surrounding it. _What on Earth..?_

Then she looked at the papers in her hand. They were written in the Master's hand, and they seemed to be papers from a log or journal of some sort. They were also torn. Emma looked closer at what they said and saw that one (written in someone else's handwriting) read simply: "_To our beloved son, Edward, on his seventh birthday. My you find your hearts greatest content in the love of those around you. Eternal love, Lillian and George. - October 13, 1867; London, England"_

Lillian had obviously been the one to write the note on this page, for it was a woman's handwriting. To Emma's knowledge, Lillian had died shortly after this, but details of Edward's early life were vague to her. She didn't dare ask the Master about matters of his personal history, and Ramsley would hardly be one to talk of it.

She began to read the next page.

()()()

_"October 14, 1867_

_ Mother gave me this journal for my birthday yesterday. She said I should try to write in it every day because it will help me to make my writing and handwriting better. She said it would make her very happy if I tried, and I want to make mother happy. So I'm writing, but I can't think of anything else to write right now. Maybe I will think of something tomorrow._

_October 15, 1867_

_ Still nothing to write about. Father left again for a work trip, and that is all._

_October 17, 1867_

_ Father came home today._

_October 20, 1867_

_ Mother asked to see my journal today, but she said that if I did not want to show it to her, I did not have to. I showed her, and she said she was a bit sad that I was not trying to write more. I asked her why it was important to write, and she said something about it helping you be human to write your thoughts down. Are we not all humans anyway? Why should writing have anything to do with that? But I don't like it when Mother is sad, so I will keep trying..._

_October 21, 1867_

_ Father yelled at me today. He said I daydream too much, and it is making me stupid. I told Mother this later, and she said that I should write my dreams in here. She also said that I shouldn't let Father see this journal anymore. I do not know why..._

_October 23, 1867_

_ I wrote a poem today, but I lost it. If I find it again, I will write it in here. I read it to Mother, and she said she really liked it. She looked kind of tired, but she told me she was feeling fine... I think she may have been lying a little. I hope she feels better tomorrow."_

Here, Emma had to look around for the next page. She found it in one of the piles at the foot of the desk. True, it wasn't Shakespeare, but Emma couldn't help enjoying the innocence in the Master's writing. However, she was pitying him slightly for the fact that George did not seem to be the best of fathers. _He seems a bit cold. Shame... Ah! Here's the other pages._

_"October 26, 1867_

_ Mother is sick. Father and the servants tell me that it is nothing too serious, but I don't believe them. She hasn't been out of bed in two days, and she looks so pale. They won't let me see her now. Ramsley is here now. I must put this away._

_October 30, 1867_

_ Mother seems better. They let me see her today. I showed her that I've continued to write in here, and I apologized for not having written more. I told her I have been too worried. She told me that I do not have to worry now. The doctor said she is getting better, and she will be alright. After that, I sat on the edge of her bed while she told me stories and read me a few poems. I've missed seeing her these past few days. I can't imagine what I'd do without her. Oh, I also drew a picture of her favorite flower in the garden for her. She said it was beautiful. After a while, Ramsley came in to take me to get ready for bed. I gave Mother the biggest embrace I could, and I told her I loved her. _

_I'm supposed to be in bed now, and I think I hear Ramsley in the hall..._

_October 31, 1867_

_ It is All Hallows Eve! When I was allowed to see Mother earlier, I asked her what we should have the cook make for the ghosts. She said it didn't matter what it was, as long as it was the best cook could make it. I love Hallows Eve. It might even be my favorite day of the year besides Christmas! This year I plan to... Ramsley is calling for me, and it sounds urgent. I will finish this lat-"_

_(here the entry stops abruptly, and nothing more is written on the page)_

Emma looked around for some more pages, but there were none to be found around the desk. As she turned to look again, she noticed that there was a page on the staircase that led to the balcony that surrounded the rest of the room. Once she retrieved that one, she noticed that there was another one at the top of the stairs on the balcony, and there were more pages then leading to a door on the other side of the room.

Emma then began to follow the pages, picking them up and reading them as she followed their trail.


	2. The Master's First Loss

**I am alive! I'm sorry this has taken so long, but this month has been crazy. Between school, choir, decorating for a Halloween party, and preparing to tell ghost stories for an hour and a half to special needs kids last night, I've been REALLY busy. I'm still hoping to have this story done before Halloween though. I'll let you actually get to the story now. **

**PS. Please review, I need to know how I'm doing on this one. I feel like it's kind of weak so far...**

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><p>The papers went along the hallway, up the staircase to the third floor, along the hall to the servants quarters, and up the back stairs to the attic. She read them as she walked. She was surprised to note that there was a large gap between the last entry she had found on the floor of the study and the next entry she found in the hallway.<p>

_()()_

_J__anuary 3, 1868_

_ I haven't had the heart to write for the last two months. Without Mother, I feel I have no reason to, but I have finally come to the conclusion that she would want me to continue writing. She valued it so much, and I don't want to feel like I'm letting her down. Father is sending me away to school now. I'm going all the way to America. Ramsley is with me. Father doesn't want to stay in London. He says everything reminds him too much of Mother. I don't understand that. I want to stay her so I can be close to everything that I knew with her... but I suppose I don't really have any say in this. Father says there is a house he owns in America that he wants to fix up, and once he does, we can live there. He says it is bigger than our house in London, and there is much more space around it, but I don't care. I don't want to go to Louisiana, wherever that is. I guess I'll write about what has been happening since I last wrote. Ramsley is still asleep and the carriage isn't shaking too much right now._

_ I have basically said that Mother is dead already... The doctor had been wrong. She was not better, and she was not going to get better. No one has told me what it was that made her sick in the first place, and I don't think anyone is going to tell me. Her funeral was November 2nd. I cannot write about it. It was too painful, and I still feel such a huge sadness weighing me down..._

_ After the funeral, father just sat in his study for a week. He didn't come out, and according to the staff he barely ate. I could tell that everyone was worried about him, but I can't honestly say that I was. He saw me crying at Mother's funeral, and when we got home, he screamed at me for it, and he slapped my face, saying that men weren't supposed to cry. I've never been close to father, and the distance between us has only widened in the past few months. I see now why Mother told me to never let Father see my journal._

_ Christmas was abysmal. No one was happy, we did not decorate the house, and only "practical" gifts were given. Father gave me a large school kit, with cards to practice sums and spelling, along with a few lead pencils and sheets of bad quality paper. It was on Christmas Day that he told me I was going to America and that I would need the supplies for my schooling there. Ramsley gave me a book titled "The Practice of Knowing One's Place". He said that it held information that was important for me to know even though I am "well off in the world", whatever that means. I was pretending to read it earlier. It is dreadfully boring._

_ Some of the other servants felt badly for me, and Emma snuck some cookies up to my room for me. Ezra gave me a nice new fountain pen. He pretends to be strict, but I know he really is not. Father said that the two of them will be sent over later, once the house is finished._

_ I must end my entry now, Ramsley seems to be waking up._

()()

Emma couldn't help but smile at the memory of that time she snuck those cookies up to the young Master. _That Christmas was the worst one we ever had, and no child should have had to experience it. That was the least we could do to try to cheer him up._

She then came upon another page, picked it up, and continued reading.


	3. The Journey

**Happy Halloween everyone! Here's an update to celebrate!**

()()()

Emma noticed that the next page she had just picked up was written in a hurried hand. She continued to read.  
><em>***<em>

_January 5, 1868_  
><em> I must write quickly, Ramsley is out on deck at the moment, so I have a few minutes with which to write. We are on a steamship, making our way over to America day by day. So far, the voyage has been smooth and fairly pleasant. I've never traveled this far from home before, and despite the circumstances, I have found that I am enjoying myself. It is terribly exciting to feel the wind in one's face while standing on deck, and the salty air is surprisingly refreshing! I intend to do much more traveling in the future. When I asked Ramsley if we would be traveling more in the future, he replied that he would do just what father, or "master" as Ramsley calls him, requests. He also reminded me that once we make it to Louisiana, I will be going to school. After he said that, my mood and spirits sank. It was then that I came down here to write. I think I hear someone coming down the hall towards the cabin. I shall try to write more later.<br>_

_January 9, 1868  
>We've been on the ocean for four days now, and I have not been alone enough to be able to write. I do not know if Ramsley would disapprove terribly of me keeping a journal, but he almost always seems to agree with Father (who does not approve), so I've just assumed that he would not like it. However I am very glad to have him with me. It would have been very lonely otherwise. It also seems that the farther away we are from Father and London, the more relaxed he becomes. In fact, I saw him nearly smiling yesterday.<br>The boat should be docking either tomorrow or the next day in New York, and then we shall take a train to a town in Louisiana called New Orleans. Ramsley showed it to me on a map yesterday. It seemed to be fairly far from one town to the other, so we shall be on the train for a few days. There are so many towns that we will be riding through, and I would like to stop and see them all. I want to see if any of them remind me of London. However, we are expected at the home of one of Father's friends within another week, so we do not have time to stop. Someday, I will see those towns though, and I intend to do as much traveling as I can when I am old enough to go by myself. I must go get ready for dinner now. I shall try to write in the coming week._

_January 11, 1868_

_ The ship docked yesterday. We pulled into a crowded harbor (although it was not nearly as crowded as the harbor in London), disembarked, and then went through customs. That being done, we found a carriage waiting for us outside the customs house. Ramsley and I climbed inside, and once our luggage was tied to the roof and put inside with us, we headed out of the city. Yet again, New York is large but not nearly as large as London, and personally, I don't think it is as pretty either. The carriage jolted down the streets, and we passed down many very nice lanes and avenues. However, we also passed some very dark, dirty streets with rickety-looking houses and many people crowded together. Ramsley explained to me that these were called slums. The people who lived there seemed to have not very good lives. I wonder if there is anything I could do to help them. Ramsley said that even the best of intentions could not help all of those people, and he said that I should be very grateful to be going to a definite home once we arrive in New Orleans. He then said, "You are a Gracey. Your family is just as well respected in New Orleans as they are in London. You are to be denied nothing, and you shall someday have everything that most men spend their entire lives trying to acquire. I recommend that you try to make the best of your new life here because as unhappy as you may be now, you are still thousands of times better off than those people out there."_

_ I guess Ramsley is right, and I have decided to try to make the best of living in America now. Even though it means leaving behind everything I've ever known._


	4. Uncovered Pasts

Emma looked up from the page she had just finished reading and found that she had followed the trail of papers out of the library and into the main second floor hallway. Continuing past rows of closed doors, the trail of papers continued, then finally seeming to turn into one of the rooms. She wanted to continue reading the pages as she walked, but she was now in a main hall of the house. She didn't want someone to slip on any of the pages or (worse yet) ask what they were. She couldn't help but feel that despite the fact that the papers were littered everywhere in plain sight, possibly only her eyes were supposed to read them.

Her mind made up, she followed the papers down the hall, picking them up as she went. When she came to the area where it looked like the papers disappeared into a room, she was surprised to see that behind the door was the staircase to the attic. At the foot of the stairs was a small pile of pages. Emma reached down and saw that the ones she had just picked up were actually the next ones written. She didn't see any more papers on the stairs, so she decided that it may be safe to just close the door, sit on the stairs, and continue reading. There was enough sunlight coming through the circular window on the one wall that it was easy to see.

Emma turned, silently closed the door, sat on the fifth stair up, and continued reading.

_January 17, 1868_

_ We have arrived in New Orleans. The train dropped us off at the station this morning, and there was a carriage waiting for us. The footman helped us load our bags, and then we drove off towards the hotel where we will be staying until we see if Grandfather's old house is in good enough condition to be lived in. _

_ I haven't written about Grandfather yet, have I? I had never heard anything about him until I asked Ramsley while we were on the train why my family has land in this country. Well, apparently Grandfather was a merchant sailor, and he was very skilled at what he did because he made himself a fortune. His name was Ambrose Gracey, and he was born here in America in 1793. Apparently, the home I have lived in until now (the one in London) was the one that my great-grandparents lived in before they moved to America in 1790. Apparently the London property has been in the family for generations, but I am getting off the point I was trying to make before. Yes, well Grandfather made a good sum of money in his shipping industry, and he married a woman named Emily; my grandmother. _

_ I also learned that Father was born here in New Orleans, but Grandfather moved the family back to England shortly after he was born. Father has lived in England ever since._

_ I really would like to know why nobody ever told me anything about my grandfather, and quite honestly, until the other day I had never really considered that Father had a father. I know Mother's parents, but we never saw them often. No one ever even mentioned Grandfather's name, or Grandmother's for that matter, and it all seems a bit strange. I asked Ramsley for more information, but he said that he didn't know any more because he has only served Father for ten years and only had the chance of meeting Grandfather twice._

_ I am so confused. I know I said a few days ago that I would try to accept the changes in my life now, but this has all been too much. I am exhausted from traveling, I miss England, and I miss Mother. I miss her so terribly. _

_ Nothing else interesting happened for the duration of the train ride, but I have decided that I want to explore this new place, this new country when I have the chance. It's very, very different from England..._

_ I am tired, I was supposed to be asleep over an hour ago, and I have found that it is hard to write in secret in a hotel room. _

_January 18, 1868_

_ We explored the town a bit today. I must say that this city is full of life. The people all seem very happy here, and I even found another young boy my age to play with for a while today. I can't remember the last time I had someone my own age to play with. The servants at home had a few children around my age, but Father would not let me play with them. He said that they were there to learn to serve me, not play with me. When I responded that I wanted them to serve me by playing with me, he just sent me upstairs to my room..."_

Here Emma stopped reading for a moment; lost in thought. _Poor Master. George Gracey was always the very strict type... I remember when Momma and the other servants used to sit in the kitchen and complain about him while the other children and I played together on the floor. I was scarcely older than seven, and the Master was not even born yet!_

Emma's mother had been George Gracey's housekeeper. The woman had immigrated from America over to England with her husband when the two of them were looking for work. This was a strange thing to do when so many people were doing the opposite and heading to America. Emma's father had died shortly after she was born, but her mother managed to find a job with the Gracey family around that time in order to support the two of them. When George sent Edward over to America after Lillian Gracey's death, Emma was twenty, and she was assistant housekeeper. Her mother was kept at the house in London, while Emma herself was sent to New Orleans to become the housekeeper there.

Emma shook herself out of her reverie as she heard footsteps in the hall outside the door. She hurriedly ran up the stairs and placed the papers on a conveniently-placed-but-dusty table, having just enough time to hide herself behind some old junk as she heard the door open.

"Emma? Emma! Are you up there?" a high pitched, slightly squeaky man's voice called. "For goodness sakes where could that woman be? Ramsley is not happy that we can't find her, and if we don't find her soon who knows what that man will do! EMMA!" There was the sound of the door being shut, and Emma's name faded away as the man walked farther down the hall.

Emma rolled her eyes at the voice which she easily recognized as belonging to Ezra. _Does that man ever stop worrying? I swear he doesn't. _

_ But he's probably right. I should get back to work before anyone else starts looking for me. I'll have to come back and finish reading these later..._

Emma shuffled out from her hiding spot and made a mental note of where she had set the papers as she hurried down the stairs once more.

She was in such a panic followed by her hurry that she didn't hear the footsteps emerging from another hiding place in the attic as she retreated. The figure gave a low chuckle at the scatterbrained housekeeper and proceeded to place a book on the table next to the papers Emma had left...

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><p><strong>This story is getting harder and harder to write as it gets more involved. I feel like I can't tell Master Gracey's story without going into the pasts of some of the other members of the Mansion. Not to mention the fact that writing backgrounds for characters is very hard when you have a ton of people living in working in one house when only two of the people there have English accents, and the rest of them don't and... yeah, let's just leave it at that. (I mean, really though! Edward and Ramsley to an extent both have English accents, but no one else in the Mansion does. Yet, I feel like Emma and Ezra would have worked for Edward most of their lives...)<strong>

**Anyway, this may be the longest single chapter I've ever written for a story (excluding one shot stories of course), and I'm pretty proud of it.**

**Finally, I feel that it is only fair that I warn you that this story will not have a happy ending. I mean, it's not really possible seeing as we all know what Master Gracey did shortly after Elizabeth's "suicide", but I shall warn you nonethelesss.**

**Please review! I really need input on this if you can give it because I feel like I may not have made sense in a few places...**


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